


Birds Before a Storm

by owlaholic68



Series: Noir!AU [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Everyone Is Gay, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid Fic, Light Angst, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Road Trips, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-03 02:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: 1952: Navarro burns, and they run.





	1. Daisy: May 1952

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel/prequel to the rest of my Noir 1950s!AU, but all you really need to know is that Navarro is gone, and that Doctor Henry and Arcade (about 3 years old) had already fled Navarro and were hiding from the Enclave.
> 
> Mentioned sexual harassment and racism is in Chapter One near the end, but it's only implied.

Daisy pulls the goggles off her head as they land. She double-checks her map as the back doors of the vertibird open. Close to Portland, but not too close. Their real target for this leg of their week-long mission was a small town just to the north. 

She yawns, tuning out the chatter of her teammates. It’s been a long trip, and this is their last part. Just this, and they’ll be able to go back to Navarro. Back home. 

“Come on,” Judah says, patting her on the shoulder as he passes. Judah looks older now, just after a few days. He hides his grief well, but not well enough to fool her. Not after they’ve been working together for so long. They had known the Gannons for years too, and they hadn't even been able to say goodbye. At least they were going to delay the service until their squad came back.

“Right behind you.” She unsnaps her safety harness, double and triple-checking the equipment before opening the door to the cool evening breeze. Evenings were still cold in May, though the days were warming. The team has their Enclave-emblazoned jackets on, long pants and sturdy shoes. They had left their armor behind in the vertibird.

The radio crackles on as she’s halfway out. Judah looks back as she clambers back into the cockpit. She waves him over. 

“This is an emergency message for the Devil’s Brigade from Base Fourteen One Twenty-Two, Code Magenta.” Navarro.

“Guys!” She yells, sticking her head out and waving Johnson and Moreno over. They must hear the urgency in her voice, because they drop what they’re holding and sprint towards her. Code Magenta was the highest level of emergency. 

Something had gone very, very wrong.

The voice coming over the radio is their usual contact, Graham, but he sounds panicked instead of calm. “A reactor meltdown has been triggered, and HQ will explode in three minutes and-and counting,” his voice shakes. He's only seventeen; they gave all of the young kids the radio operator jobs.

Johnson gasps. Daisy’s grasping the edge of her seat tight enough to make her arms shake. 

“Do not return to base. Do not attempt to contact any other personnel. Proceed immediately to your emergency bunker to await further instructions. Please-please confirm.”

Judah leans over. “We confirm.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but all he does is close his eyes briefly before turning off the radio. 

In the silence, Moreno speaks up, his voice a hushed whisper. “It’s all gone. Say goodbye to America.” 

The air in Daisy’s lungs feels cold, unreal. This all feels so unreal. She counts down in her head as the group-her squad, her team, her  _ family-  _ wait without saying anything. Will they hear the explosion? What had happened? How had it all gone so wrong?

In the moment, she knows. This is the end of the Enclave. There is no illusion of hope, no chance that maybe everything will be okay. Three minutes pass. Daisy thinks she hears something, but it might just be her imagination. They’re probably too far up north. 

Up north. Their designated emergency bunker is in Las Vegas, miles and miles to the south. How are they going to get there?

She clears her throat and looks up at Judah. He’s staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused, hands white-knuckled on the headrest of her seat. Behind him, Johnson has his arms wrapped around himself. Moreno is standing still, staring down at the ground. 

“What’s the plan?” 

* * *

Portland is a large city. There are plenty of places to hide. Daisy’s not even sure if they need to hide, but Judah thinks it’s necessary, just in case. 

The motel room is small, almost too small for four grown adults. But they’ll have to make do. There are two beds and a dresser, but none of them bother unpacking. They barely have anything as it is. 

Daisy sits on the bed and rummages through her backpack for a comb. She just has the one bag, they all do. If Daisy had known that they’d never be going back, she would have brought more with her. 

Food, MREs. Water, a few pouches. A flashlight, matches, a heavy blanket bundled into a roll and tied on top. A multitool and a Swiss Army knife. A small first aid kit. A bar of soap and a bottle of dry shampoo. Toothbrush and toothpaste. A compass and a map, which was currently on the bedspread next to her. A small towel. A pair of sturdy shoes, a fresh blouse, a pair of jeans, five pairs of socks, an extra bra, and seven pairs of underwear. A few trinkets, things small enough to carry and important enough not to leave behind.

Ah, the comb. Small enough to fit in her hand. Daisy sits on the edge of the bed next to Judah and unbraids her hair as he goes over the map. He’s dragged the nightstand between the two beds. Johnson and Moreno have gathered on the other side.

“How much money do we all have?” Judah asks. 

“Forty-five dollars.” Daisy puts her wallet in the middle of their circle. 

“Twenty-five.”

“Thirty and a handful of change,” Johnson says. 

“And I’ve got fifty.” Judah sighs and counts it all up. “That’s one hundred and fifty, give or take. And I already paid for this room for the night.” 

It’s just past nine o’clock at night. They’d had to ditch the vertibird and most of their gear. Weapons, armor. Their jackets, which had big Enclave symbols on the backs that might as well have been targets. It was a cold and somber walk into the city, where they’d stopped on the outskirts at a motel.

“I took some guns and things we could sell, maybe.” Moreno shrugs. “It’s not going to do us much good now.” 

Judah nods. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly. “So here’s the plan.” He points at the map. “We’re up here. Portland. And the bunker is all the way down here in Vegas.” He gives them all a serious look. “Are we all agreed to continue with the original plan and head there?” 

Moreno and Daisy give decisive nods. Johnson hesitates before agreeing too. If nothing else, the bunker will have supplies, money, backup plans. “How long is it going to take to get there?” 

“On foot? Weeks. If we could somehow scrape up enough money for a car or bus tickets? Less than that. But we don’t have the money. So here’s our next problem.” He traces a line on the map, the approximate path they’d have to take. “This is the biggest city for a while. If we’re going to get money by finding jobs, this is our best shot. We stay here for a couple of weeks, save up enough for a car and supplies, and then we hit the road.” 

That’s the plan.

* * *

May passes slowly. Every day is spent working, or trying to find a job. Evenings are spent together in their dingy one-bedroom apartment, trying not to bicker too much. Close quarters, no entertainment besides books that Johnson picks up from the library. Rent was forty dollars for the month, not including electricity and water. The landlord hadn’t seemed to care that they’d probably be moving on at the end of the month, and he hadn’t questioned why four people would share a one bedroom.

Near the end of the month, about a week before they were planning on buying a car, Daisy quietly opens the front door. She turns and locks it behind her, shutting the two bolts over the latch. She finally takes her hand out of the pocket of her knee-length plain skirt, taking out her Swiss Army knife and tucking it back into her purse. 

Shoes off and kicked under the entry table. She winces at the spider nest that’s forming under the table. Their apartment has so many other problems, spiders are low down on the priority list. 

“Daisy? That you?” Judah’s voice comes from the living room. It wasn’t much of a living room: just a small table and a couch. 

“Yeah,” she calls back. She sets her purse down on the kitchen counter before going into the room. She hadn’t realized how early it was. Judah normally left for work at four. 

“You’re home early. Everything okay?” Judah must see it on her face. His smile fades. “Daisy?” 

She told herself she wouldn’t cry about this, but just him saying her name so gently has the tears rolling down her face. “I got fired.” 

He stands and takes her arm, leading her down to sit on the couch next to him. The couch squeaks, the cushion old and deformed under them. “Oh, Daisy. What happened?” 

“My manager-”

“Fuck,” Judah whispers, putting an arm around her shoulders. She leans into it. 

“He told me that if I refused him, he’d fire me. He knew how much we needed the money.” She dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. “So I told him to go fuck himself, punched him in the nose, took my tips, and threw my apron right in his face.” 

Judah says nothing, but hugs her tighter. His sleeve rolls up and reveals the corner of a bandage. Daisy frowns and touches it with the tips of her fingers. “What happened here?” 

“Broke a bottle.” 

She frowns up at him. “Judah…” 

There’s enough danger in her voice for him to acquiesce. He sighs. “They’ve been trying to train me on making simple drinks. I filled in for Jamie for a minute, but the customer didn’t like that  _ I  _ was the one making his drink. Took a glass from the counter and threw it.” He rubs his arm. “I’m going to stick to the back for now, but I’m sick of moving boxes and restocking bottles.” 

“We used to be so much,” Daisy muses. “You were a captain- _ our  _ captain. I was a pilot, one of the best in the whole Enclave, and I don’t like to brag. And look at us now.” She wipes her eyes. The tears had stopped, but now they’re coming back again. “A waitress-hell, not even that anymore- and a bar back. Johnson, working at the mall and Moreno, washing cars. This just, what  _ happened  _ to us, Judah?” 

He’s crying now too, a little bit, in his quiet way. “Navarro happened.” He’s hugging her tight enough to almost suffocate her. “And we just need to make the best of it.” 

* * *

Johnson dropped a knife and, because he’d never payed attention during training, tried to catch it. He needed stitches.

“Idiot, trying to fucking catch knives,” Moreno mutters, half to himself. He slams the front door shut behind Johnson, leading the other man somewhat gently into the living room. “Here, sit down. You’ve lost too much blood, don’t go trying to pick up shit and do shit.” 

Daisy, across the room, hears the note of fondness in Moreno’s voice. Johnson seems to appreciate it to, by the grateful nod he gives Moreno when he hands him a glass of water. Johnson looks pale and is shaking slightly, his right arm heavily bandaged. 

The medical bills aren’t overwhelming, but they’re a drain on their limited savings. Daisy excuses herself and goes to their shared bedroom, which is blessedly empty. She sits down on her and Moreno’s mattress and cries into her pillow. 

They almost had enough for a car. But now, this means more waiting, more working. Another month here in Portland. 

Late June, Johnson comes home with a key in his hand. Their “new” car is a Buick 1938, a four door. It’s black and the engine rumbles loudly, but it works. 

They’re going to get out of here.


	2. Johnson: July 1952

They have more to pack this time, but not much more. Their original backpacks and two suitcases shared between the four of them. A handful of household supplies are thrown in the back of the car. Portland will not be their last home on the road to Vegas. 

Daisy drives, because it feels wrong for her not to. Their pilot, their navigator, the only one Johnson trusts to get them where they need to go. They don’t get very far the first day, but that’s fine. They got a late start. 

Johnson is in the backseat with Moreno. He leans against the window and watches the raindrops slide down the glass. Behind them, Portland disappears into the fog. He wonders if it will rain on the Fourth of July tomorrow, and he hopes it won’t.

“There,” Judah says from the passenger seat, pointing out the front windshield. Darkness is starting to fall upon Interstate 84, and the headlights of their “new” car are on the fritz. They don’t want to risk them failing in the middle of the night.  

At his signal, Daisy pulls into the parking lot, a flickering sign above them reading “Country Court Motel”. This lodging is nicer than the other one they stayed at when they first started this months-long journey. It has a cozy lobby and large rooms, king size beds and air conditioning. But to save money and out of a lingering sense of anxiety, they all still share one room. 

“So, are you guys friends on a road trip?” The receptionist asks. She’s an older woman with, as it was quickly becoming apparent, a nosiness that could not be held back. 

Thankfully, they have a story all planned out. 

“Yeah,” Johnson answers. He nods at Daisy. “This is Daisy, my cousin on my Ma’s side, and we’re heading up to her cabin for the Fourth.” Then, a wave at Judah and Moreno, who cannot be passed off as blood relatives. Their original plan was to have Daisy be fake-married to one of them, but both Judah and Moreno would draw suspicion in both cases, and Johnson’s not sure how well he can fake being married to a woman. So, cousins it was. “And my two old Army pals, Judah and Moreno.”

“Ah, that’s sweet. Do you all need anything? Extra pillows?” 

“No, Ma’am, I think we’re good.” Daisy gives her a smile. “Actually, do you have a pair of scissors I could borrow? I was going to trim my hair tonight.” 

Johnson, absently, reaches up and touches his own hair. It’s been getting so hot recently, it was sticking to the back of his neck and tickling his ears. Growing it out was a luxury he had appreciated at first. Now, it was actually starting to get a little annoying. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Moreno give him a raised eyebrow. He knows what  _ that  _ look means, because he’s seen it dozens of times, every time Johnson’s hair gets a little  _ too  _ long for regulations. 

“I’ll let you cut my hair- _ cut it,  _ not buzz it all off- if you beat me at ping-pong.” 

Moreno’s eyes narrow. “You’re on. First to eleven, best two out of three. What do you get if you win?” 

He thinks. “We switch seats so I sit behind Daisy. More leg room that way.” 

“Deal.” 

Then, both of them in a practised unison: “Judah?” 

Judah sighs and doesn’t even look over from where he’s paying for the room. “I approve,” he murmurs, half paying attention, then frowns and looks over. “You know I’m not in charge of you guys anymore, right? You don’t have to get me to approve your weird bets.” 

They’re already running for the ping-pong table in the lobby.

“Hey! Bring our bags in first!” Daisy complains. Johnson turns tail and runs for the car instead, because, well, it’s Daisy. Moreno, as always, is at his side.

* * *

Johnson would never admit it out loud, mostly because it would embarrass Moreno, but this is nice. 

“Like James Dean.” 

“No.” Moreno frowns down at his hair. “Not like James Dean.” He snips around Johnson’s ear. “I’m not a fucking hair expert. I’m just giving you a shorter,  _ cleaner  _ version of what you already have.”

It’s silent after that, just the quiet snip of the scissors and Moreno’s occasional mutterings of “stay still” or “lean your head forward”. The scissors are cold when they brush his skin, but Moreno’s hands are warm. Johnson closes his eyes, taking comfort in the familiar routine, though normally this ritual was fast, brutal, the hum of the electric razor making quick work of whatever Moreno-disapproved hair he had. But this is slow, silent, comfortable. Just the sound of the rain drumming on the roof.

“There,” Moreno whispers. He gives the hair a quick towel dry before touching up a few pieces, then declaring it done. 

Johnson meets his eyes in the bathroom mirror. “Thanks.” His hair is shorter now, in a sort of generic men’s style, clean and close-cropped. True to Moreno’s promise, he does  _ not  _ look like James Dean. “Do you know who I look like?” 

“If you’re going to say-”

“Mark.” Johnson shrugs, the movement making him aware that Moreno’s hands are still on his shoulders. “I kind of look like Mark, but less blindingly blond.” 

Moreno is silent for a second. “Come on, I’ve got something in my bag I want to show you.” 

“You guys finished?” Daisy looks up from her book as they walk out of the bathroom. She’s laying on one of the beds. Her hair, previously down to her waist, is now just past her shoulders. “Hey, Johnson, you look nice.” Judah is reading too, one of the new Asimov fiction paperbacks. 

“Here.” Moreno fishes something small out of an inside pocket of his backpack. He sits on one bed. Johnson sits next to him. 

It’s like someone kicked him in the stomach as he looks down at it- a small color picture of all of them. 

> _ “I’m not even really part of the team!” Maria protests, giggling as Johnson pulls her into the photo.  _
> 
> _ “Nonsense,” Daisy chimes in from next to Henry in the front row, looking over her shoulder up at them. “Just because you’re not a field member doesn’t mean you’re not important. And besides, Arcade’s in this too, and he’s never even been on a mission.”  _
> 
> _ “Not yet.” Mark adjusts his kid in his arms. Arcade, who’s just had his second birthday, squirms in his father’s arms, slightly confused about what’s going on, and starting to get a little bored. “Just you wait, he’ll grow up and you’d better watch out, Judah, he might take your place!”  _
> 
> _ “He’ll grow up, alright,” Moreno mutters. “With parents like you two, he’ll be the biggest fuckin’ beanpole on this team.”  _
> 
> _ Judah sighs. “First of all, language. Secondly, can we just take this picture? It’s been ten minutes.”  _

“Oh, Johnson,” Daisy sighs, coming over and hugging him from the side. She’s crying too, biting her lip and trying to be quiet about it, like she does. Judah is on Moreno’s other side, looking down at the picture with one hand over his mouth. Johnson doesn’t look over at Moreno, but he can feel his shoulders shake. He’s never seen him cry, and he doesn’t want to.

“At least they didn’t have to see the end of the Enclave.” Moreno’s voice is quiet and choked-up. “At least they didn’t have to live knowing that Arcade- that their son-” 

Arcade was at Navarro when his parents died. Arcade was at Navarro when it was destroyed. 

Johnson traces the border of the photo. They hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye, not to any of them. They hadn’t even talked about it since they had heard the news. Hell, they hadn’t really talked about their shared loss of the Enclave, of the only family and home they had ever known. 

“Henry was in Reno,” Judah remarks. “Maybe he’s out there somewhere. We should look for him. He could be anywhere by now, but maybe he’s still around.” 

In the silence that follows this statement, Johnson thinks of something. A hitch in their plan. The emergency bunker they were heading towards had a passcode. Six words. One for each of them: Judah, Daisy, Moreno, Johnson. And Henry. And Arcade.  They are not going to be able to open the bunker. Maybe they could manage it if they were only missing one word, but two? They are not going to be able to guess it. Johnson doesn’t say anything aloud, not in this moment, but he’s starting to have his doubts if their goal was even worth it.

“Do you remember when Maria told us she was pregnant?” He says out of nowhere. 

Daisy perks up. “That’s right. I, of course, had known for a while. She told me right after she told Mark. But you guys, oh so oblivious-”

“Hey!” There’s the start of a laugh in Moreno’s voice. “I totally knew too!” 

“She had to run out of a briefing because of morning sickness,” Judah quips, “and all you said was “yeah, the eggs did seem weird this morning”. You were the picture of obliviousness. She was almost a month in.” 

“Hey-”

“Henry was reading a book on early-term pregnancy. Why do you think he was reading it, for  _ fun?”  _

Johnson will look back and, despite everything, remember this night fondly. They continue to trade fun stories about the last few years in the Enclave. The time that Daisy tripped getting out of the Vertibird during a formal function. The time that Arcade blurted out the word “anti-establishmentarianism” during dinner one night, almost causing Henry to die of excessive laughter from the sheer pride that his dumb prank had paid off.

During the conversation, wordlessly, Johnson hands Moreno the picture. He tucks it into his pocket and shoots him a brief smile. 

All in all, a good night. 

* * *

The desert road on the Fourth of July looks endless. Johnson glances up at it once in a while, nose-deep in one of Daisy’s Agatha Christie novels. 

“We’re almost to the Idaho border.” Judah squints down at the map. “Just a few more miles, I think. There’s a motel near there where we can stop-”

The car shifts under them. Daisy gasps and jerks the wheel to the side of the road. “Something’s wrong-” 

“Pull over!” Judah hops out of the car before it fully stops. He pops the hood and flinches as a plume of dark smoke hits his face. 

Johnson freezes. This has the echoes of another incident layered in his mind: Daisy in the cockpit, crying out in barely restrained panic as the engine of the vertibird caught fire, as they were high off the ground, so high up- 

“Engine fire!” Daisy yells. “Everybody out!” Moreno shakes his arm. Johnson springs into action with the rest of them. He grabs his and Daisy’s backpacks as Moreno gets the other two. Then, to the trunk for the two suitcases. 

The sun is starting to light up the sky orange and purple and red, and their car is like the center of a big bonfire, a kernel of smoke in a pile of logs. 

Without a word, they turn away from it like they turned away from their abandoned vertibird, still somewhere all alone out in an Oregon forest. Johnson had seen Daisy kiss the dented metal hull of the helicopter when she had thought that no one was looking. They don’t get the chance to say goodbye to this car. They have never gotten the chance to say goodbye to anything.

Johnson had forgotten Daisy’s book in the car. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arcade's father's name being Mark is canon according to J.E. Sawyer, but I did make up Maria's name. 
> 
> Isaac Asimov's second Foundation book was published this year, as was an Agatha Christie mystery.


	3. Moreno: September 1952-January 1953

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: mention of work-related abuse, homophobia, and a panic attack.

Boise is no better than Portland. 

Actually, Moreno thinks that it’s fucking worse, but he’s trying to keep positive for everyone else. Or, as positive as he can be, so mostly just quiet.

They more or less limp into the city after a hard week of walking and hitchhiking and spending too many nights shivering in the dark. The backup plan of just hoofing it down to Vegas had always been in the back of Moreno’s mind, but after this week, that idea has gone right out the window. 

They’ve been here for two months. Idaho is starting to turn orange. September is starting to wind down and get cold. People start mistaking him for a migrant worker come to help with the harvest. He wants to snap in their faces. He comes home angry more often than not, but he hides it well. 

Daisy’s last manager threw a paperweight at her when she was two minutes late to the office one day. Of course, because Daisy is Daisy, she had thrown that chunk of rock right back at him, giving the CEO of Idaho’s biggest company a concussion and getting revenge for all of the other secretaries that had ever had to put up with his abuse. That incident, still fresh in their minds, is the only thing holding him back from throwing his coffee mug across the room. That, and this was his favorite mug. 

The application on the table in front of him is for a well-paying position at a nearby factory. A managerial position. With benefits. 

With pages and pages of references and qualifications required. Questions and forms and mountains of paperwork, and Moreno doesn’t know why he decided to start this anytime before noon. He’s only one page in, and it’s already killing him.

Instead of throwing something, he puts his head down on the wobbly kitchen table and groans.

“I know,” Daisy reassuringly says, poking her head out of the newspaper. The words POLIO EPIDEMIC KILLS OVER 3000 is on the front. “Applications are rough.” She cranes her neck to look over at the question that he’s stuck on. 

> _ Do you agree to the following terms of employment: _
> 
> _ I do not use or knowingly deal in illegal substances, including but not limited to drugs or drug-related paraphernalia. _
> 
> _ I do not participate in the excessive imbibing of alcoholic beverages to the point of where it will affect my work efficiency or health. _
> 
> _ I do not indulge in sexual perversions, including but not limited to sinful homosexual acts. _

Daisy looks up and sighs. “Oh, Moreno.” 

He doesn’t meet her eyes. “I can’t lie about who I am, Daisy.”

“Well,” she sighs again, “this job sounds like shit anyways.” She reaches across and takes the application. With a decisive twist of her hands, she rips it up and throws it in the trash. “Now come on, we need to go to the store today.”

Outcasts in more ways than one, he thinks as he down the rest of his coffee. At least they have each other.

* * *

November fourteenth is Johnson’s birthday. November sixteenth is Daisy’s. 

Which is why Moreno finds himself in Sears, the worst store ever fucking invented. It’s a mess of hustling and bustling shoppers getting a head start on Christmas shopping. He grumbles as he weaves through crowds of shrill middle-aged white women and seemingly endless hordes of crying spoiled children.

A bundle of winter socks for Johnson, who could be a weird Martian or some other alien from those dumb sci-fi books that Judah reads, with how damn cold his skin can be. Johnson’s already wearing his winter coat when it can’t be less than fifty degrees out. If these socks will stop him from complaining for five minutes, they’ll be worth it. 

Now Daisy. Ugh, shopping is hard. Let’s see, what does Daisy like? They’d already all agreed not to spend more than one or two dollars on each other, so a new dress was out. She doesn’t really like flashy jewelry, and since Moreno does most of the cooking, any of the traditional “feminine” gifts that this hellhole is advertising wouldn’t really be much of a gift. 

With the vague thought that she might need a scarf or a hat or something with winter approaching, he finds himself browsing through the women’s accessories section. 

When he sees it, he knows that it’s right. It’s perfect. It’s cute but not  _ too  _ cute, made out of sturdy-looking plastic in a cheerful design. And it’s three dollars and fifty cents. He winces at the price, but gets it anyways. 

When Daisy unwraps it, she bursts into laughter, then into tears. She puts the handbag in the crook of her arm and twirls, her secondhand blouse and dull threadbare skirt contrasting with the shiny newness of the bag. 

Judah is uncontrollably giggling next to Moreno on the couch of their dim living room, an oddly young sound for their leader. “Daisy, like your name-” He breaks off into rolling chuckles. 

It’s gaudy and silly and Moreno feels embarrassed that he bought it before Daisy sweeps him up in a hug. 

“It’s hilarious and, it’s just perfect!” She laughs, the round edge of the daisy-shaped lucite handbag pressing into his arm. “Thanks!” 

“Yeah, whatever,” he crosses his arms and fights down a blush at the attention. “Happy birthday.” 

* * *

Moreno avoids looking at the calendar. He knows without looking that it’s December fourth. It’s a rough day. 

Six months. It’s been six months, and they haven’t made it to Vegas yet. Every day feels like a stab in the gut. It feels like they’re running out of time. 

“I have to take an extra shift today,” Daisy says. It’s a lie. She volunteered to stay late because it is December fourth, because it’s been six months, because she plans on throwing herself into work to avoid thinking about it. “I won’t be home for dinner.” 

Judah’s already left for work without a word. Johnson, next to Moreno at the table, stares into his bowl of cereal like it’ll give him the sleep he so obviously missed last night. It’s Thursday, Johnson’s day off, since the hardware store he worked at was open on the weekend. Moreno has an interview later, but not until two. He was planning on just going somewhere, walking through the plain city streets until he forgot what day it was. 

Those plans are put on hold when Moreno shoulders open the bathroom door, intent on shaving. He didn’t even think about knocking. They’ve lived in such close quarters for so long that any vestiges of privacy have long since gone away. It’s not like they all walk around naked, anyway. 

“Sorry!” Moreno quickly closes the door. He can hear Johnson sobbing on the other side. 

Fuck, but that crybaby wears his heart on his sleeve. This is a scene that is not unfamiliar to Moreno, but one that he is constantly uncomfortable with. But this sounds different this time, in that it sounds like anything at all. He would be more annoyed with Johnson’s near-constant waterworks if they were loud like Daisy is, but they’re usually silent, carried out in empty bedrooms and bathrooms. 

But this does not sound like that. He sounds like he’s having an asthma attack in there or something. 

Alright, fine, so Moreno does care a little bit. He cracks the door back open. “Johnson?” 

He doesn’t get an answer. When he peeks in, Johnson seems like he’s trying to form words, but nothing is getting out. He’s gasping and hyperventilating, sitting on the edge of the tub and bending forward with his head between his knees. 

Oh. Moreno  _ has  _ seen this. He’s seen this every time they took off and landed, every time the ground fell out beneath them in a whirr of helicopter blades. This memory gives him the courage to sit next to Johnson and take his hand. 

“Hey,” he says, softly, like he’s in a fucking movie or something. “Just breathe. In, now out, you know how this works.” 

This feels like it’s taking forever. Moreno wishes he had noticed the warning signs earlier. He’s really good at stopping these panic attacks in their early stages, but not so practiced at talking Johnson down from them once it’s already started.

But finally, Johnson’s breathing slows. He slumps against Moreno’s shoulder. “Sorry, I just-” He hiccups. “I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

“Yeah, yeah, stop that shit,” Moreno snaps, trying to eliminate the unnatural coddling tone that his voice had held before. “I get it. Now just shut the fuck up.” 

A watery smile works its way onto Johnson’s face. “Alright. Thanks.”

* * *

“I already called in to work,” Judah croaks. 

“Damn right you did.” Moreno sets a cup of tea in front of him. Then, a jar of honey next to that. Outside the window, January dumps snow on Boise. “I better not see you doing dumb shit. You’re sick, so relax for once in your life.” He brushes his hand across Judah’s forehead and recoils. “Fuck, Judah. Hold on.” 

One hundred and two degrees, according to the thermometer. 

“Just the flu,” Judah says. He starts to say more, but it gets interrupted by a coughing fit. “I’ll be fine.” 

He will  _ not  _ be fine. After three more days of this nonsense, Moreno drags him into a clinic. 

“Strep throat? You had  _ strep throat  _ and you were just going to try and wait it out?” 

Judah rubs his throat and looks sheepish. “To be fair, Daisy, I thought I had the flu.”

“The flu doesn’t cause a rash,” Johnson comments. “Maybe you didn’t know it was Scarlet Fever, but you should have at least been worried about  _ that  _ part.” 

“Yeah, well,” Judah coughs, “I’m not a doctor.” 

Out of all of the things this could make Moreno think of, it makes him think of Arcade. When the kid was only a few months old, he got pneumonia. Their whole squad was up all night helping to take care of him, mostly because they weren’t going to get any sleep anyways, not with the loud hacking coughs echoing through their dorm suite. 

Moreno slides another cup of tea over to Judah. 

He wishes Henry was here. He wishes Arcade was here. He wishes that Maria and Mark were back, he wishes that they were all back at Navarro, that they were all back together, that the world hadn’t fallen apart around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little disappointed that I couldn't find a picture of a daisy-shaped purse to show you, but I'm sure that they existed. With Lucite (plastic/glass? something like that) they made a bunch of novelty accessories, so they probably made flower-shaped ones. $3.50 is about $30 today, the average price for purses in the 1950's that I could find.


	4. Henry: February-May 1953

“Mr. Potato Head, he’s a potato head, his head is a potato and he’s a potato head-”

Henry tunes out the nonsense song from behind him, looking up from his research notes just long enough to check the contents of the pantry. “Mac and Cheese sound good?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Arcade has stopped playing with his Mr. Potato Head toy and has started reading, kicking his heels against the wobbly kitchen chair legs. 

The Mac and Cheese almost burns because Henry’s too absorbed in his work. But it all works out. He’s gotten pretty good at the single dad thing, even though he still messes up sometimes. A plate of Mac and Cheese, a glass of milk, and a piece of bread make a cheap filling meal for a growing boy, and is more than enough for an often forgetful scientist. 

Winter doesn’t last long in western California. February is fleeting, and March will soon take its place. Maybe Henry can turn Arcade’s too-short jeans into shorts. As he eats dinner, he takes a break from work to mentally review his budget. There’s a little bit of flex room there, enough that maybe he can get him a new pair of pants  _ and  _ a pair of sneakers, if he watches his food budget. 

Henry, of course, has been cycling through the same three shirts and two pairs of pants for months now. He doesn’t own a sock without at least two holes in it.

* * *

“Do you know what today is?” 

Arcade looks up from his bowl of cereal. “Tuesday. March tenth.” 

Henry smiles. “Good, but not what I was talking about. No, it’s your parents’ anniversary. Here, finish your breakfast and I’ll show you something.”

This hurts to talk about, to even think about, but he needs to do it. Maria and Mark would kill him if he let their son forget about them. 

“Wow, pretty!” Arcade reaches to touch the photo, then pauses and waits for Henry’s okay. “Mom’s so pretty!” 

“And do you remember who this is?” 

He screws his face up. “Uh, Johnson.” 

Henry imitates a game show buzzer. “Try again.” 

The wedding party photo is in color and large enough to show everyone’s smiles. Maria looks stunning in her dress, and Mark looks dignified and almost regal in his tux. 

“Moreno?” 

“That’s right. And next to me, with the long hair?” 

_ “That’s  _ Johnson. He broke the rules a lot. And then Moreno would get mad at him and Judah would sigh and yell at both of them and put them in time-out.” 

Henry laughs. He’d forgotten that he’d told Arcade so many stories about the squad. “And who’s the pilot?” 

“Daisy? This one?” Arcade pauses. “She looks nice.” 

“She is nice. Don’t you remember when you got lost in the base and she helped you?”

“Yeah. She reminds me of her.” 

“Reminds you of who?” 

Arcade clams up. “No one.” 

Well, that’s a weird answer. Henry frowns. “What? Does Daisy remind you of your mom?” 

He only gets a shrug in return. Arcade starts gnawing on the fingernail of his index finger, then stops himself. “Who was Carla?” He blurts.

Oh. Daisy  _ would  _ remind him of Carla, both alike in temperament. Henry sighs. He’s surprised that this subject hasn’t been brought up sooner. It’s almost been a year since.

“Carla was,” he pauses to run a hand through his hair, thinking about how to best explain. “You know that the Enclave did some bad things sometimes, and that’s why we’re not part of them anymore?” 

“Except Mom and Dad and the other people.” 

“That’s right. They tried to do good. It was complicated. But not everyone was like that. They did some bad stuff to Carla, and they were going to do a lot to everyone in the world. So she had to stop them to protect herself. If you ever see her again,” he gets serious, “be careful, okay? She knows about us, and I’m not sure how she would react if she meets us again. You can trust everyone else, Judah and Daisy and all of them, but I don’t know about her.” 

Was that too much to lay on a three-year-old? Did he even understand all of that?

“Okay.” Arcade nods. “What about Daisy and Johnson and them? Where are they?” 

Henry puts an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He doesn't voice the thought that he doesn’t even know if they’re still alive. 

* * *

In the back of Henry’s head, he hears the echo of Judah suggesting, in a weary voice, that he  _ not  _ conduct his experiments in the common room. 

Oops. He probably should have listened. But science waits for nothing, especially not the money to get a more spacious apartment, so the living room it was.

“Arcade! Arcade, wake up!” He screams, stomping out a few flames that start to creep across the carpet. Ow! He’s not wearing shoes, only old thin socks.

Arcade pokes his head out the bedroom door and immediately starts coughing. 

“Stay low and get out!” Henry orders, scrambling for the fire extinguisher. Arcade runs behind him and throws open the door to the apartment. Henry aims the bulky fire extinguisher at the coffee table and closes his eyes, wincing at the smell. But it does the job. After waving away a cloud of smoke, he can see the charred remains of the table, but no more fire. 

He opens a window and sticks his head out into the dark city night, taking a deep breath of the fresh April air. He takes a moment to center himself before turning back to his burnt mistake. 

“Are you okay?” Arcade asks, peeking back around the doorframe. 

“Yeah.” Henry heavily sighs. “Remember, if you see smoke, always stay low. Smoke rises, so you’ll be safe down by the floor.” He might as well take this incident and turn it into a learning experience. “If there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“And if there’s a mad scientist, apparently there’s going to be fire as well.” A new voice drawls from the hallway. 

Henry winces. “Hi, Debbie.” His landlord. “Uh, I can pay for any damages. Just an experiment gone wrong.” He waves Arcade back into the now mostly smoke-free room.

Debbie has her hair in curlers and a bathrobe on. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.” She taps her foot. She’d never liked Henry. She was almost entirely convinced that he was, in her words, “one of those San Francisco deviants” who’d kidnapped Arcade somehow. 

He swallows hard. “I think it’s time we moved on.”

“You’ve got rent paid until the end of the week.”

“We’ll be out of your hair by then.”

She gives him one last glare before turning and walking back away. 

“No, don’t cry,” Henry lifts Arcade up and sets him on the kitchen counter. “It’s okay, it was getting boring here anyways. How about we head east to Vegas? That might be fun, we could go see all of the lights.” 

Vegas is also where the secret bunker is. Henry has never even considered trying to open it. He only has one word, two if he counted Arcade’s. And why would he want to bother with something like that?

All of that Enclave stuff was better off left in the past.

* * *

Milk, cereal, bread. Some vegetables, some fruit. Bananas, blueberries. Broccoli, baby carrots, cherry tomatoes. Potatoes. Eggs. Open the egg container to check it, close it back up again. Henry checks his hastily-scrawled list. Next, the frozen aisle. 

“Do you want cheese or pepperoni, Arcade?” He absently asks, checking the prices of the frozen pizzas. 

There’s no answer. 

Henry’s stomach plummets like a crashing vertibird. He whirls to look around himself. “Arcade?” But there’s no kid with him. Oh no. He internally berates himself. Why did he let him walk instead of riding in the cart? Why wasn’t he paying attention?

“Arcade!” He yells, abandoning his cart to run down the aisle. He collides with a man turning the corner, pushes him aside and ignores his surprised gasp. Not in the fruit and vegetable section. He shouts again and again, his voice rising each time. 

His heart is pounding in his ears, his adrenaline-fueled breaths making his out-of-shape body complain. Somewhere up in Heaven, Maria and Mark are probably yelling down at him for being such a moron. This is what he gets for being such a shitty parent and a barely functioning adult trying to take care of a kid-

“Henry?” Arcade’s voice is almost too quiet to hear, but Henry picks it up down an aisle he passes. The kid is crying, looking just as panicked as Henry. He throws his arms around Henry’s neck as he’s picked up and tightly hugged. “I’m sorry, I got distracted and I stopped just for a second, and then I didn’t know where you were-” 

“Ssh,” he soothes. “Just don’t,” he catches his breath, “just don’t scare me like that again.” Another deep breath to calm himself down before standing, propping Arcade on his hip, inwardly grimacing at the weight. He’s getting a little too big to be carried. “Come on, let’s wrap this up and go home-” 

There’s a crash behind him, the clatter of a shopping basket dropping to the faded tile floor. The sound of a strangled gasp. Over his shoulder, Arcade makes a surprised sound and grips his shoulder. 

Henry turns. “J-Judah?” He stutters. 

At the end of the aisle, with a shopping basket at his feet, Judah is staring wide-eyed at them. “Henry? A-Arcade,” he puts a hand over his mouth. Tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Oh, oh my God-”

It’s been almost a year, and Judah doesn’t look any different. Henry can’t seem to find the words to express his immense relief, so he settles for a hug instead, a little awkward with him still holding Arcade. 

“We-we thought the worst, we hadn’t heard anything, no news-” Judah is babbling, openly crying now, and it hurts so much to see his captain, his friend, so upset like this. Maybe more has changed than just physical qualities.

A bigger reunion follows,and he has time to fully appreciate the changes. Daisy looks older and harder now, her hair shorter and her eyes sharper. Johnson is lean and anxious. Moreno is bitter and reclusive. Henry had never seen Moreno cry, not even happy tears at the Gannon's wedding. But now, Moreno cries into Arcade’s shoulder and sobs something about keeping a promise to Maria and Mark. It’s unsettling, seeing his family like this.

But they’ve found each other again, and now that the team is back together, everything is going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Henry tries to be a single dad and does his best. Also, I'm really regretting giving Judah a line in the last fic about them reuniting with Henry after a YEAR, because that's a really long time! Why did I do that? Why couldn't I have just left it vague?
> 
> Mr. Potato Head came out in 1952! Fun fact: the original toy was just the facial pieces meant to go on a REAL potato! It looks really creepy! The old ads for it are a little sinister!!


	5. Judah: June 1953-December 1955

The new Ford plant was hiring. There was an ad in the paper, calling for leaders and innovators. Judah got an interview. They took one look at him and, unlike the countless other interviews he’s had, didn’t immediately reject him. 

That night, he stopped at the store on the way home and bought a cake. Finally, they had something to celebrate.

* * *

It’s a four-bedroom in the suburbs, and it’s perfect. 

It’s Johnson and Daisy’s names that are on the deed, but it’s mostly Judah’s income that lets them buy it, and it really belongs to all of them. 

Four bedrooms is a luxury. Hell, two bedrooms would feel extravagant. It’s decided early on that Arcade should have his own room, since he’s a growing kid. Daisy is the next to get her own space, though she heartily protests. But it’s not really proper that she share a room with a man, even though she argues that they’ve never really cared about that in the past. Still, she deserves it. 

The original plan is to put Johnson and Moreno together like they were in the Enclave, but then Judah remembers how well  _ that  _ worked out. So, it’s Henry and Moreno, then Judah and Johnson together. They each have their own bed, another luxury. There’s even two bathrooms, which is unbelievable.

It takes a while to incorporate Henry and Arcade into the group’s well-established routine, but it all works out after a few hiccups. And they’re finally together, really together at last.

One unseasonably warm fall evening, Judah sits at the kitchen table with a cup of ice cream and thinks about the bunker. It’s just out of town. They could get there in less than an hour. 

But why would they want to now? They have a life now, houses and cars and jobs and a kid to take care of. They just applied for a library card. All that would be waiting in the bunker is pain and a grim reminder of what they’ve lost. 

All of that is better left in the past. It’s time for them to look to the future.

* * *

Judah walks into the kitchen. He has to step backwards quickly to avoid being hit with a spoon as it’s thrown to the floor with a clatter. 

“No! I don’t wanna eat!” 

Henry narrowly stops Arcade from grabbing another spoon to throw. The frazzled scientist looks to be at his patience’s end, trying to hold a fussy and crying kid in one arm while pouring cereal with the other. “Come on, Buttercup. I know you don’t feel well, but you need to eat something.” 

“Here,” Moreno runs into the kitchen with a steaming washcloth in one hand. Arcade is quickly transferred into his arms, though not without a few kicks and whines involved. But the commotion in the room quickly quietens when Moreno presses the warm washcloth to the left side of Arcade’s head, against his ear. “Ssh, Pumpkin, that’s better. Let’s let Henry get us some breakfast, maybe just some banana. We can try cereal later, then watch Howdy Doody at ten.”

“Thanks,” Henry gratefully says. “He got an ear infection from that nasty cold last week,” he explains to Judah. “We’re going to wait a few days to see if it gets better on its own before taking him in for antibiotics.” He runs a hand over his face. “Thankfully, I’ve got Moreno to help. I don’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t so helpful and good with Arcade.” 

Judah’s glad to see this, very relieved to hear this praise from Henry, who he’s never heard say anything positive about hardly anyone. Moreno had been having a rough time the few months before they were reunited with Henry, but he’s seemed to find new purpose in helping take care of Arcade. 

* * *

“And remember to call me if anything goes wrong-”

“Judah,” Daisy sighs. “You’re not my dad. You’ve told me all of this five times already.” She checks her reflection in the entryway mirror. “This isn’t my first time going out.”

He checks his watch. It’s just past eight o’clock. “Still, this isn’t San Francisco. If anything happens-”

She meets his eyes in the mirror. “Police are probably more concerned about men’s places than women’s,” she reasons. “I’m just going to go, get a drink or two, and hang out with some cute butches. I’m not planning on going home with anybody, not tonight. Look, I’m even armed in case some loser tries something.” She flicks open a switchblade from her pocket.

Daisy looks splendid tonight, free and proud and ready to have fun. She’s wearing a battered leather jacket over a simple blouse and her nicest skirt. Her still-shiny daisy purse is in the crook of her arm, and her hair is done up into a wild style that she was hoping the ladies would go crazy for. 

He just has to have faith that she’s going to be alright. “Well, have fun.” He musters a smile and opens the front door for her. 

Still, he waits up by the phone until he hears her come home.

* * *

The car outside comes to a stop, then turns off. Judah taps his foot and tries to contain his impatience. He hears the scuffle of feet, then the front door opens.

“Judah?” Moreno looks confused and apprehensive to see him waiting in the entryway. “You’re home early.” 

“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” He crosses his arms. He hates having to do this, even back when he was officially in charge of the squad. Confrontation and discipline were never his strong suits. “Imagine my  _ surprise  _ when I come home and find a certain  _ someone  _ already home, having taken the bus home from the library.  _ Alone.”  _

Moreno has the gall to argue with him about this. “He’s a big kid, he can handle it-”

“He’s  _ four,”  _ he snaps, letting some of his worry bleed into his voice in the form of anger. “He just acts older because he’s been through so much shit in his life. What the fuck were you  _ thinking,  _ Moreno?” Arcade’s upstairs in his room, so he won’t hear any of this, even if Judah puts his captain voice on for this.

“I had to run errands-”

“Take him with you.”

“It’s fine, nothing happened, nothing’s going to happen-”

“Is this not the  _ first  _ time?” 

Moreno guiltily winces, and that’s a clear enough answer. Judah throws his hands in the air. He paces in front of the door to stop himself from screaming at Moreno, at his friend. Finally, he settles on a disappointed glare. 

“If you’re going to take care of him, you need to get better. Henry lost sight of him for thirty seconds and almost lost it.  _ That’s  _ how parents should act. If you’re not going to take this seriously, you’re not fit to take care of him.” He turns on his heel like he’s on parade. “Don’t do this again.”

* * *

Judah walks in the room in time to see Moreno roughly shove Johnson, who snarls and pushes Moreno back.

“Hey!” He barks. Recognizing this particular tone of voice, they both stand down, continuing to glare at each other. This is not the first fight Judah’s had to break up, but it looks like the nastiest he’s seen in a while. “What’s going on here?” It’s only the knowledge that Arcade is in his room down the hall that stops him from swearing up a storm.

Moreno straightens his shirt. “Nothing,” he mutters, and turns on his heel, shouldering past Judah and pounding moodily down the stairs. The front door slams and Henry shouts something from the kitchen, a reprimand for slamming the door so hard.

“So,” Judah crosses his arms and stares at Johnson. “What’s going on? I thought you two were getting along a little better.”

He shrugs and walks into their shared bedroom. “I don’t know, we were. Kind of. But he wants,” he runs a hand over his face, “he’s not happy, I think. There’s still a part of him that can’t let go of what we used to be.” He sits on the bed. “He wants to go open the bunker, I think. Go back to how we used to live.”

Judah sits too. He looks around the room, the room that they’ve lived in for over a year now. Everyone has their own bed, and personalized bedding, extra quilts and hole-less sheets. They have alarm clocks and hangers in their closets, trinkets and pictures set up on their dressers and side tables. It’s more than just a lived-in house, it’s a home. 

It’s  _ their  _ home. And they can’t just walk away from that now. 

* * *

He knows that something’s off as soon as they all sit down for dinner. 

It’s strangely quiet, but maybe that’s just because it’s a Monday night and they’re all tired after  a long day. Judah’s just gotten a big promotion. More money, but more responsibility, more work, more stress, longer hours. 

Eating dinner together has become a cherished ritual. Before, they never had the same hours. Daisy often worked evening shifts, but now with her new job at the same mechanic shop that Johnson works at, their schedules line up for once. Sometimes Henry is off with one of his clients or tutoring some desperate college student, but more often than not he takes the time to sit down with them. 

But it’s not just the quiet. There’s a tension at the table, and it’s not hard to find the source. Daisy and Johnson are chatting quietly about a client they had to serve that day, and both of them look fine, sitting on Judah’s left and right, respectively. He sits at the head of the table out of habit. Johnson and Henry are on his right, Daisy and Moreno on his left, Arcade at the far end in a booster seat. 

“Come on,” Henry breaks the silence, leaning over to poke at an oddly surly Arcade. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of green beans, but they have lots of calcium in them.” 

The kid shrugs. “Yeah.” He raises his head briefly to peek at two adults flanking him.

_ That’s  _ where this tension in the room is emanating from. Moreno hasn’t said a word the whole meal, and Henry’s been quiet too. Both of them are very purposefully looking everywhere besides each other. They’ve grown close over the last two years in a way that they never did in the Enclave, and Judah would consider them to be best friends. 

So, this cold shoulder towards each other is concerning. There’s no need for him to interfere just yet, though. There’s a chance that it’s just a little disagreement, and it’ll all blow over in a day. 

That’s not what happens, not exactly. The next day, Judah walks into the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee. He finds Moreno, Arcade, Johnson, and Daisy, but not Henry. 

“Henry left early,” Daisy explains, knowing what Judah’s raised eyebrow means. She checks the clock and rises, Johnson following suit. “Said he had an errand to run, some paperwork to take care of, and that he’d be gone a good part of the day.”

That night, Henry calls all of them together into the living room for a “family meeting”. He nervously wrings his hands, standing in front of the TV facing them sitting on the couches. 

He clears his throat. “I officially adopted Arcade.” 

Above all, Judah is relieved to hear this. They all had official paperwork that the Enclave had put in order, though with fake names and fake addresses, the whole secret identity deal. Henry explains that the Enclave had had the time to list Maria and Mark as deceased. All five of them were listed as the next of kin, making the adoption process relatively easy. 

The others also seem happy, even Moreno, who doesn’t seem super excited, but not particularly bothered by this either. This must not have been what they were fighting about. Arcade doesn’t look surprised or upset, so Judah can only assume that this decision had been previously discussed in private. 

“That’s not all I have to talk about.” Henry pulls up a stool and sits. If he looked nervous before, he’s shaking in his boots now. “I need to tell you about Carla.” 

This name means something to Arcade, who makes a small noise and gives Henry a look that’s impossible to decipher. The kid is almost six now, big enough to be a part of these serious conversations now, when appropriate. 

“Carla?” This name means nothing to Judah. 

“Yes. She was…” he sighs. “I met her almost three years ago. In Reno. She was a private detective. Probably still is. She was investigating an Enclave-related case, and getting a little too close to the truth. That’s one of the reasons I was on special assignment to Reno, to feed her misinformation and throw her off the trail.”

Judah has a feeling that this isn’t all. 

“Then we met her again, Arcade and I.” Henry’s shoulders hunch in. “Two days before Navarro was destroyed.” 

Oh.

“S-She was the one who destroyed it.”

_ Oh.  _

“Tell us more.” Judah needs to know more about this woman. If she’s still alive, she could be a threat. “Tell us everything.”

* * *

This weird fight between Moreno and Henry lasts three days before Judah steps in. The main reason he intervenes is because of Arcade, who has picked up on this bad atmosphere and is not liking it. He’s having tantrums that a kid his age shouldn’t be having, refusing to eat and throwing fits when put to bed.

Quite frankly, it’s exhausting, and it’s time that the two adults got their shit together. 

“It’s nothing.” Henry, predictably, dodges the question. His hackles are raised like when he would have one too many arguments with Dr. Schreber. This is the prickly, perpetually grumpy scientist that Judah knows and is annoyed by. 

He sighs. “Listen, I don’t even really care what this whole deal was about. Just work it out, for everyone’s sake.” With his hand on the doorknob of the bedroom, Judah pauses. 

“I’ll try.” 

Apparently, Henry does try something, because the issue seems to be resolved before Judah even gets a chance to talk to Moreno about it. That same day, they’re back to normal. Better, even. 

If only he had found this new cheer suspicious. If only he had noticed that Moreno seems a little  _ too  _ cheerful, and that Henry’s smiles seemed a little strained. If only he had seen this whole thing coming, then maybe Henry would still be alive. 


End file.
